‘Horrible, horrible argument with Michael. I’m feeling very shaky.’
‘Is he there?’
‘No. I’ll explain when you come. Please, just get here as quickly as possible.’
I ring off. ‘Sorry.’
‘No, no, she’s our friend.’
When we get to the street I’ve been trying so unsuccessfully to relegate to the past, I find myself looking for lights on in Michael’s windows. The house is dark. Drew parks the moped and I knock on Lizzy’s door. She opens it a crack, then all the way.
‘Come in quickly please. I don’t want anyone to see.’
She practically pulls me inside, Drew only managing to slip in because he’s stepping on my heels. Once we get into her hallway I see why she’s so anxious not to show her face. A bruise marks her jaw and she’s got the start of a black eye that she’s nursing with an ice pack.
‘My God, Lizzy, what happened to you?’
She bites her lip.
‘Was it… Was it Michael?’
I can hear Drew muttering something about going round and sorting him out.
Lizzy nods. ‘We… We argued. I didn’t expect him to get physical. Oh Jessica, there’re things you don’t know. Do you mind if we sit down?’
We follow her through to her kitchen. It’s the mirror image of Michael’s, conservatory on the left rather than the right. Flossie runs up and jumps to greet us, barking hysterically. The sounds goes right through my brain.
Lizzy tries to restrain her. ‘Sorry, she’s not had a walk. I couldn’t go out like this. Tea? Coffee?’
Drew crouches and attempts to calm the spaniel. His gets a face-wash for his trouble. ‘Would you like me to take her out so you two can talk?’
‘Oh would you, Drew?’ Lizzy fetches a lead which produces yet more bouncing. ‘There’s a park – oh, but it’ll be closed now.’
‘Don’t worry. Flossie will show me where she wants to go.’ He pockets some little black bags and heads out with the spaniel towing him along the street.
‘You’ve picked a good one there,’ says Lizzy, looking a little grim.
‘And I have you to thank for introducing us. He and his family are so kind to me.’
‘Jessica, I should’ve thought! How are you after Friday? I shouldn’t have rung you. You need to rest.’
‘I’m OK. I only stayed in overnight. There was only the one, you know, hallucination when I was in the kitchen. When I settled and got over the fear, I felt more or less normal. Normal for me, that is.’
She nods and pours water into a teapot. ‘I’m making decaffeinated – is that OK?’
‘Fine. Now sit down and tell me what’s happened.’
She puts two mugs on the table, a little jug of milk, and the teapot under a cosy in the shape of a thatched cottage. There are kids’ drawings on the fridge – thank-you cards from her last class of leavers. It’s odd, now I think about it: I don’t come over here very much. She tends to come to us. There’s a dream catcher hanging at the window and a large picture of a moon over a dark sea, rather gloomy for a kitchen.
‘OK, there’s something I need to confess first,’ begins Lizzy. ‘Michael and I have been… have been lovers for a while now.’
‘Wow.’ I put my hands to my face. I hadn’t been expecting that. ‘How long?’
‘Since Eastfields. I’ve wanted to tell you but Michael said that he didn’t want to do so. He couldn’t afford to have you even angrier with him than you already were while he was being investigated.’
‘He was sleeping with you? Behind my back?’ I say it more to make it a fact than to get an answer. Weirdly, it is a relief. I’m not the only slut; Michael is one too.
‘I think I was a kind of revenge relationship to start with, but since you left we’ve spent more time with each other and… well, I’ve been practically living with him for a few weeks now. I’m sorry. I love him.’
I take a breath. I need to work this out for myself. I can hardly complain about betrayal when I’d been the one who started it. I’d long since worked out that I no longer loved Michael. ‘Right, OK. Don’t apologise to me. Stuff happens.’
‘It certainly does. But that’s only a kind of introduction to what went wrong, so you’ll understand.’
It’s clearly gone hugely, horribly wrong for her to be sitting there with an ice pack. I pour the tea for us both. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I’ve spent most of my time over at Michael’s since you left. I thought I was a comfort to him.’
‘You probably were.’ I’m trying not to be cynical but Michael is the kind of man who needs a woman to offer him a flattering reflection of himself. Lizzy, an attractive woman with her honey-blonde hair and doe-like brown eyes, fitted the bill.
‘You know, it all sounds so stupid! I can’t believe myself sometimes. I’m normally a better judge of character than this.’ She shakes her head at herself.
‘What happened, Lizzy?’
‘I did some ironing – I did his shirts for him because he mentioned that he was running out.’
‘So you are an ironing kind of person,’ I murmur.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Go on.’
‘I was hanging them up in his wardrobe when I noticed a lump in his jacket pocket – the green linen one, very rumpled.’
‘His conference suit.’
‘Yes, it survived the bedroom slashing.’
‘He was wearing it in Berlin.’
‘Of course. Anyway, I thought he might’ve left something he needed in there, so I fished around and found this.’ She puts a dark-blue box on the table and opens it. A plain gold band and a sapphire flanked by two diamonds. ‘They’re Emma’s, aren’t they – engagement and wedding rings?’
‘Yes, they are.’ And Michael had said they were stolen. First, he accused me, then we had all assumed Jacob had taken them. ‘Have you told him you found them?’
She gives a dark laugh. ‘Oh yes.’ She points to the black eye. ‘I asked him how he came to have them when he’d told the police that they’d been stolen during the break-in and the attack on the bedroom. He tried to deny they were the same rings. I called him on that and he got very angry – I mean, really scarily angry.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘I tried to push past him but he got in my way. He’s a big man. I have to admit to getting scared at this point. We had, I suppose, what you’d call a fight. I hit him with the coffee pot to get away. He was bleeding, dazed, so I took my chance and ran home and locked the door.’
‘You should’ve called the police.’
‘You think? I don’t want to get him into more trouble.’
‘Lizzy, if he had the rings, then he’s not been telling us the truth, has he?’ I’m having to rethink my assumptions. ‘Just because Michael’s been cleared of Jacob’s wild accusations doesn’t mean he can’t, after all, have been involved in his death.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I’m not sure. I can think of several alternatives. Maybe Jacob broke in and took most of the stuff, as we know. When he came home, Michael found the damage, decided it was me, and pocketed the rings to make me look more vindictive to the police he called in.’
Lizzy frowns then winces as it hurts her bruises. ‘That’s possible, I suppose.’
‘Or Michael staged the break-in himself. Drew suggested that as a possibility early on to me, but I’m afraid I dismissed it.’
‘So how did Jacob have some of the things at his home?’
I don’t want to think this way, I really don’t, not when I’ve spent the last few days convinced Michael is the victim here. ‘Maybe Michael took them to Jacob’s house, got into a showdown with him, killed him and then made a botched attempt at making Jacob’s death look like suicide.’
‘The drugged whisky? Was that him too?’
‘I… I don’t know. Perhaps.’
‘Are you saying you now think Michael did kill Jacob?’
‘I don’t know wh
at to think, but I do know you need to tell the police. I know that the ring box has opened up various doors that I thought we’d shut.’
Lizzy puts the ice pack down. ‘There’s something else you need to know. Michael’s gone. His car, some of his clothes, his passport.’
Now she mentions it, I can see with my own eyes that at least part of that is true. The BMW isn’t on the street outside the house as it normally should be. ‘You went back in the house?’
‘Only when I was sure it was empty. There’s some blood on the sink, as if he only had a chance to have a quick wash-up, otherwise there’s no sign of him. I think he might’ve made a run for it, knowing that I had got away and had the rings as evidence. He must feel as though the net is closing in.’
I pick up her home phone. ‘Lizzy, phone the police right now. They’ll want to send out an alert.’
‘Right. OK. I’ll do it. Which number shall I ring? 999?’
‘Try this one first.’ And for the third time in two days I hand over Inspector Randall’s details to a woman with something to tell him about Michael.
Chapter 43
By the time Drew is back with Flossie, the police have arrived. The press, piranhas, smelling blood in the water, swim up soon afterwards, filling the street with their noise, equipment and lights. I stay inside Lizzy’s as she escorts DS Lloyd around Michael’s house. They have asked to see the broken coffee pot and the gaps in Michael’s wardrobe.
Inspector Randall sits with me, drinking a fresh cup of tea. ‘You’ve been busy, Miss Bridges.’
‘For all the good it’s done.’
‘You helped tie up some loose ends. Though I told you not to interfere, I suppose I should be grateful you’ve saved me the man-hours that would’ve been expended checking out what had happened to these girls.’
‘Is that a backhanded kind of thanks?’
‘If you like. Did you ever read all the way through Jacob’s files?’
I shake my head. I guess that he is subtly checking my earlier statements, hoping I’ll slip up now over a week has passed. ‘No. I mentioned that I read the entries from where he first decided to employ me. I then had an attack of conscience and handed the laptop over to you. I didn’t know how the earlier stuff would connect to Michael.’
‘It’s a very odd case.’ Randall leans forward as if to confide in me. I have to remember I still could be a suspect here and not get too friendly. ‘Jacob West appears to have a tendency to believe a number of conspiracy theories. He contributed to online chats with that profile.’
‘I didn’t know that about him. What kind of theories?’
He gives me a rueful smile. ‘You name it. Anything to do with big business or influential figures in the establishment plotting the downfall of free society. There are some you’ll recognise: 9/11, the intervention of a shady group called the New World Order, the Roswell alien incident, NASA faking the Moon landings, the assassination of JFK.’
‘So you’re wondering if he invented his own conspiracy about Michael and those girls?’
‘Actually, no. I think it’s more complex than that. You have to understand that most conspiracy theorists I’ve come across honestly believe their alternate reality. It’s a kind of mentality – I was going to say modern mentality but I think it has been around for a long while; the internet has just allowed like minds to meet more easily.’
‘The opposite of Occam’s razor. If there’s a wiggly twisted route, the conspiracy theorists take that rather than believe the straight road of the evidence.’
‘I’m sure there’s all sorts of psychological reasons why quite a large proportion of society are susceptible to the opposite of, what was it you called it, Occam’s razor?’
‘Yes. Sorry. I like trivia.’
‘Please, no need to apologise. I’m impressed. But then again, from the start I’ve had you down as an intelligent player in this particular case.’
‘I think that’s a compliment – unless it gets me in trouble.’
‘I’m coming to that. You see, we believe Jacob was fed selected information on the girls by someone who knew that he would likely spin the little he was given into some complicated theory. He refers, back around New Year a couple of times, to anonymous tips.’
‘Do you know the identity of the tipster?’
‘It’s someone who knew where Michael was at certain times and on specific dates; someone who knew just how to throw tempting titbits to a paranoid character like West, getting him to snap them up without question even if they were poisoned bait; someone who has a good understanding of the psychological profile of such an individual.’
The silence is broken by the sound of Drew playing fetch with Flossie in the back garden. She got hysterical again when the police arrived so he has done us all a favour by removing her from the room. I wish he were sitting with me to give me moral support. ‘Inspector, are you accusing me of doing this?’
‘No. I’m asking if you did.’
‘Why would I? I was part of Jacob’s whole evildoers fantasy, wasn’t I?’
‘That could be a very clever smokescreen – hide the fact that you started it by taking a minor part in the drama.’
‘Who’s making up the conspiracy now? Let me give you a straight answer. No, I did not tell Jacob to look into the four girls or suggest he employ me to do so.’
Lloyd and Lizzy come back in.
‘Sir, Miss Huntingdon is correct,’ reports Sergeant Lloyd. ‘Michael Harrison has left in a hurry. An officer from the crime scene team swabbed the sink and will check if it is Harrison’s blood, and I’ve locked up. Shall I put a police guard on the place?’
‘Have an officer stand out front for a couple of days to keep the press from intruding. That should be enough.’ Randall gets up. ‘Thanks for the tea and use of your kitchen, Miss Huntingdon. We’ll be in touch.’
‘What happens now?’ I ask.
‘We look for Dr Harrison and for the car.’
‘Will you arrest him?’ asks Lizzy, touching her black eye lightly.
‘If you wish to press charges on assault, then yes. As to the other matter, I have plenty of questions I now need to ask him, so you can rest assured Dr Harrison will not be returning home any time soon. Thank you for handing this over to us.’ He holds up the plastic evidence bag containing the ring box.
‘No problem,’ says Lizzy.
The inspector pauses on the way out. ‘I looked you up, Miss Huntingdon. You were on the job, weren’t you?’
‘Long ago.’
‘Why did you leave?’
‘I lost my appetite for that kind of work. I decided teaching was more my thing.’ She walks him to the front door. ‘Good night, Inspector.’
Chapter 44
Michael is still missing. The media report the next morning that his vehicle has been found in a short-stay car park at Heathrow. Being an area of high security, the garages have CCTV but the BMW had been parked in such a way that the driver was hidden behind a pillar when he got out. He then ducked into a stairwell and mingled with the crowd. Further checks with the airlines don’t find him booking in for any onward travel, so the media are speculating that Michael either used a fake passport, or driving to the airport was a bluff to make everyone think he’s fled the country. The local reporter on the BBC points out that the central bus station has coaches departing for all corners of the UK at regular intervals and no one document-checks the passengers. He could have gone anywhere.
Drew switches off the breakfast TV. I lie with my head on his chest, letting him soothe me.
‘This is so strange, to be close to a major news story,’ I murmur.
‘Yeah. So are you thinking Michael did kill Jacob after all?’
‘I don’t know. The ring box – where does that fit? The inspector told me last night that Jacob was a committed conspiracy theorist. He thinks someone manipulated Jacob into creating a case around four random girls who just happened to go missing on days when Michael was in their area. L
ike, if it had been Manchester rather than Harrogate, he’d have picked one from there.’
‘Not so random then. That would take dedicated research.’
‘And a knowledge of Michael’s movements. It’s not as if he posts his diary online or anything.’ I turn to look up at him. ‘Randall suspects me.’
‘He suspects everyone.’
‘I knew what Michael was doing during that period and I worked with Jacob. I join the dots.’
‘But unless you’ve got very good at falsifying data input on a laptop, then you’re clear. You didn’t know him before April.’
‘There’s only my word on that. But what if I knew about Jacob before I started working for him? That diary of Emma’s had to be lying about the house somewhere and Randall can theorise that I found it earlier than I claimed. What if I saw the animosity between Jacob and Michael and decided Jacob was a perfect tool to undermine my partner as our relationship crumbled?’
‘How very Machiavellian of you.’ Drew kisses my equilateral triangle of freckles. ‘Good attempt, Jess, at persuading me to doubt you, but I don’t buy it. Can’t see you having enough mental energy for a plot like that. So little for you to gain. And plus, you’re too nice.’
‘Aw. OK, I own up. It wasn’t me. But someone did. Jacob is unlikely to have enough insider knowledge on Michael to come up with all that stuff himself.’
‘OK, here’s a thought, going with my earlier idea that Michael trashed his own bedroom: what if Michael was the one feeding Jacob this false material to destroy his reliability as a witness if he did come forward to make allegations against Emma?’
‘Go on.’
‘So Emma did go wrong, trying to hide Jacob’s child from him. Michael would’ve been well aware that Jacob could’ve sued the police and made a huge scandal. It’s bad enough when cases involve male officers duping unsuspecting females and having kids with them; think of the shitstorm when it’s a female officer who tricks the dad and runs off with the child.’
‘It would be brutal – and, no question, Michael still loves Emma. He would hate that to happen to her reputation, even though she’s dead.’
‘Right. So, Michael drips these cases into Jacob’s suspicious little mind and builds a picture of himself as some monster, so way out there that any rational person would dismiss it. He’s the famous TV psychologist, he can claim, bound to be the focus of some nutter’s fantasies. The police will just brush the allegations off like so much lint. He knows just how to work the con because he’s the fricking expert on deviant minds, so it plays right into the way Jacob thinks. Am I making sense so far?’
Don’t Trust Me Page 28
